


The Healing Touch

by inevitably_johnlocked



Series: I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, John Loves Sherlock, Love Confessions, M/M, Sherlock Just really wants John's Attention, Sherlock's Broken Foot, Sofa cuddles, Stroppy Sherlock, Teeny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:52:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitably_johnlocked/pseuds/inevitably_johnlocked
Summary: Sherlock's broken his foot and he's becoming unbearably stroppy. Good thing John has the healer's touch... ;)





	The Healing Touch

**Author's Note:**

> ****  
>    
>  _FIRST PUBLISHED OCTOBER 29/17_   
>    
>  [Original Post Here for the following prompt:](http://inevitably-johnlocked.tumblr.com/post/166915818250/so-my-friend-and-i-absolutely-love-your-blog-she)   
> 
>
>> **Anonymous asked:** _So my friend and I absolutely love your blog. She recently broke her leg and nose, and is currently in the hospital. She loved your first kiss head cannon. And she just told me how much she would love to read another. I would love to surprise her with another first kiss head cannon. If you have time she would really appreciate it._
> 
> __  
> _Cleaned up and rewritten for Ao3._  
> 

“John.”

Said man sighed heavily to himself, his eye twitching, hidden from Sherlock’s view behind the newspaper John was attempting to read in his chair.

“JOHN.” More forceful this time, tinged with annoyance.

Maybe if he pretended Sherlock wasn’t there, Sherlock wouldn’t see him.

**“JOHN.”**

A pillow hits John in the head. Apparently not; Sherlock sees John perfectly fine enough to aim directly for his head and have the pillow land on top of the newspaper he was reading so that it crunches out of his hands.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

“Yes, Sherlock, were you requiring my attention?” John asks sarcastically, turning slowly to look at the man pouting on the sofa, his casted, broken foot propped up onto one of its arms, and the rest of him sprawled out dramatically across the length of it. The look of utter annoyance on Sherlock’s face is more than enough to know what John is about to hear next.

“I’m SO _BORED,_ ” Sherlock complains, attempting to not make it sound like a whinge but failing spectacularly. As if to prove his point, Sherlock flops one of his arms over his eyes and hangs the other down off the sofa. His good leg flops off the sofa onto the floor, straight out. His toes curl in and out, which John takes as a sign that his frustration levels with the situation have reached that precipice dividing ‘stroppy Sherlock’ from ‘unbearable tyrant’, which usually ended in a huge verbal fight, John leaving the flat for a few hours and the two of them feeling awkward with each other for days. John does not like those moments; time to diffuse before it ends in tears. John knew that it was mostly being brought on by Sherlock wanting John to pay attention to him, more than it being actual boredom.

“Really?” John’s voice intonates as he feigns incredulity, which for some reason always flies right over Sherlock’s head. “And what would make you not bored?” John starts to get up out of his chair and heads to the kitchen to make some tea.

“Let me take off my cast, John.” The ‘obviously’ is implied in the statement. John rolls his eyes as he puts water into the kettle and flicks it on.

“Well, you git,” John starts, rooting around the cupboard for some peppermint tea and honey, “you wouldn’t have needed one in the first place if you hadn’t jumped three stories into a skip.” John glances back at Sherlock, who has taken up watching John upside down as he hangs his torso off the sofa, “Which is ‘Not Good’, by the way.” Sherlock actually looks mildly chastened by this. “And _then_ to not only **_not_ ** wait for me to get down there to help you out, but _hop out of the skip on said broken foot,_ chase after the suspect and then tackle him, and then _NOT TELL ME_ you broke your foot until Lestrade’s team left and you finally allowed yourself to start limping.”

The pout on Sherlock’s face was, John admitted, annoyingly adorable. “But I caught the criminal and solved the case, ” Sherlock mumbled.

“You did indeed, Sherlock. But that’s no excuse for hiding a broken foot for almost two hours. You’re lucky it wasn’t anything more serious than a hairline fracture.” The kettle boiled, and John poured Sherlock’s tea, adding extra honey into it. It was a treat he often gave to Sherlock in times when Sherlock’s moods were really black. It was also useful in making an impending dark mood dissipate immediately, for some reason. He poured his own tea and added milk, then grabbed the two mugs and proceeded out into the common room toward the sofa upon which Sherlock was liquefying. Sherlock’s gaze watched him the entire time, John noticing it already losing its irritated gleam now that John was paying him attention. _‘Just like a puppy,’_ John thought fondly as he set Sherlock’s tea on the table in front of the sofa, and sat himself into the space currently not occupied by Sherlock’s upper body.

“I wasn’t hiding it,” Sherlock huffed trying to reach for the tea upside down.

“You were, and _no_!” John reached over and grabbed the teacup from the table. “I’m not having you burn yourself too because you’re in a stubborn strop. Now sit up proper; you can’t drink your tea upside down.”

Sherlock snorted, “I most certainly can!” He tried to reach for the retreating teacup, but failed as John put it on his own side table.

“No, you can’t. Now come up here and sit proper. Your back is going to kill you later.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Sherlock muttered under his breath. He heaved himself up to a sitting position, and, to John’s surprise, scooted his bum into John’s hip and pressed his back against John’s shoulder. “Tea, John,” Sherlock demanded as he held his hands out to his side, awaiting John to pass his tea to him.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” John admonished halfheartedly, not really annoyed at all since Sherlock’s mood was already immensely improved all because he could now be closer to John. Imagine that.

John had suspected awhile ago that Sherlock had at least some affection for John, at least where touching was concerned. Sherlock seemed to, since John’s return to 221B, go out of his way to create situations wherein John either touched him or make John notice him. John thinks it’s an underlying fear that John isn’t actually living there, that Sherlock is dreaming it all, and needs to prove to himself that John does, in fact, reside with him once again, and the only way Sherlock can do that, in his mind, is to experiment.

Sherlock is a scientist at heart, after all.

The thought breaks John’s heart, if he’s honest with himself. He’s loved Sherlock for so long in every imaginable definition of the word, and the thought that he himself had instilled that insecurity into Sherlock tears him up inside.

John hands Sherlock his teacup, which Sherlock delicately takes and brings around himself to his lips. He hums contentedly, which John feels through his shoulder. A second, bigger sip is heard, and a surprised “oh” escapes Sherlock’s lips. “You added extra honey!” he says, turning his head so he can see John in his peripheral vision.

“Well, you’re doing your best to try to convince me that you’re ill and deserve pampering,” John chuffs as he sips his own tea, holding it steady as Sherlock attempts to turn his torso around to look at John better.

“I’m not _ILL_ , John. I’m merely incapacitated.” Sherlock pointedly lifts his casted foot up a little, then back down with a _thump._ “And I don’t need _‘pampering’”._

“Oh, well then if you feel that way about it…” John pretends he’s getting up off the sofa. As expected, Sherlock leans into John harder to keep him in his place.

“Maybe a _little_ won’t go unappreciated,” Sherlock mumbles, now making sure John sees him take a hearty gulp of tea. He turns back so his spine is now leaning once again into John. John chuckles and sits deeper into the sofa.

John sips his tea. “Glad to know. But you can still take care of yourself, you nutter.”

The sharp inhale he hears from Sherlock catches John’s attention, as does Sherlock’s quiet, “Not anymore.”

Now it’s John who turns his torso towards Sherlock which must have caught Sherlock off guard since he tumbles back into John’s chest and is now looking up at John’s face. “Why would you say that, Sherlock?” John is genuinely curious, but he thinks he knows the answer.

Sherlock’s eyes look off to the side, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. He sighs heavily, then looks up at John again. “Because it’s true.” Sherlock gestures to his broken foot. “This happened because I’m a stubborn fool who does things without thinking it through…” Sherlock gulps heavily, “and because I want to impress you.” Sherlock’s cheeks colour a bit, trying to hide it by sitting up a bit so he can sip his tea. “The only reason I even went to cast it is because you told me to.” Sherlock picks an invisible fluff off of his own shirt sleeve. “Left to my own devices…” Heavy breath from his nose. “I’m lost without you, John.”

“Sherlock…” John says softly, putting down his own tea. _‘God, I did this to him,’_ John thinks as Sherlock leans back into him, looking anywhere but at John. “You know that that’s not true.” John is sure that Sherlock _doesn’t_ know but it never hurts to voice this.

Sherlock merely returns his gaze back to John’s eyes, sadness ever-present within the depths of his stare.

“Oh, Sherlock.” John shuffles his arm out from under Sherlock and wraps it around him, his other hand taking Sherlock’s teacup from Sherlock’s shaking hands and putting it on the side table next to John’s. He feels Sherlock shudder a breath as John wraps his other arm around Sherlock, and nosing his face into Sherlock’s hair. “You silly, silly man.”

Sherlock’s hands reach up for John’s head, pushing it away from his own head. John is confused for only a moment until Sherlock’s head falls further down his chest and Sherlock pulls John to his own face, lips crashing against each other at an odd angle. John grunts a startled _“Mmmph!”_ at the contact. Sherlock is breathing heavily through his nose and John can feel his rapid pulse beating through the fingers holding John’s head in a death grip. John tries to pull away, but Sherlock grunts his disagreement and pulls John tighter to his face, wanting John to feel all the things he cannot say.

At least that’s how John interprets it, anyhow.

“Sirrrock,” John tries to speak from his squished lips. This seems to make Sherlock suddenly aware of what he’s done, because he lets go of John’s head as if burned, and the deer-in-headlights look on his face breaks John’s heart. John is certain that if Sherlock hadn’t broken his foot – and if John wasn’t holding him so tightly –  Sherlock would have flounced off and hid in his room for days.

“John, oh god, I don’t know –” Sherlock started, his face beet red and his hands shaking where they hover above his head. John reaches for Sherlock’s hands and tuck them against Sherlock’s chest, under his own where John is hugging Sherlock tightly. Sherlock blinks rapidly, trying to comprehend why John hasn’t shoved Sherlock away.

“Shh,” John hushes. “I couldn’t breathe, you git.” John realigns his head so that their lips can capture each other more softly. John gently tastes Sherlock’s bottom lip – like peppermint and honey – suckling and tonguing at it, letting Sherlock know that this is what John wants. Sherlock’s breathing slows slightly as his mouth opens, welcoming John unto its depths.

The kissing starts softly, with Sherlock’s upper lip braving at joining in on the action. Sherlock wiggles his hands free from under John’s grip and replaces them back on John’s head, pushing John into his face once again. He becomes slightly more enthusiastic at this point, now insisting on sucking on John’s lips.

Sherlock is a terrible kisser, John thinks with fondness, but he doesn’t mind in the least. It’s endearing, actually, because Sherlock’s enthusiasm is making up for it, turning his head this way and that as best as he can from his reclined position, sometimes missing John’s lips all together and sucks on the corner of John’s mouth at one point. John giggles at this, which causes Sherlock to pull John’s head away so he can look him in the eyes again.

John smiles brightly. “Hey.”

Sherlock must have seen something that pleased him, because his eyes twinkle, and the eye corners crinkle in that way that they do when Sherlock is genuinely, truly happy. He pulls John’s head to himself again, and touches their foreheads together, closing his eyes and breathing through his nose. Sherlock’s arms come up around John’s neck and plays with the hair at the base of his head tentatively. It sends a shiver down John’s spine, which Sherlock must feel, because Sherlock continues to do it a little more confidently.

“I’m feeling better now, John,” Sherlock says softly, stroking his nimble fingers along the base of John’s skull reverently. “You’ve got the healing touch, Doctor.”

“Yeah?” John chuckles, his own hands smoothing along Sherlock’s chest, up his neck, and back down. “Mm, my patients will be pleased to know.”

The sudden stillness and horrified silence from Sherlock is comical to John. “No,” Sherlock blurts. “It only works for _ME_ , John.” He states this matter-of-factly. “No one else.”

John can’t help but giggle at the seriousness of Sherlock’s demeanour. He moves his head so that they’re touching cheek-to-cheek.

“John, I’m serious!”

“I know, Sherlock,” John says, pulling himself upright, which cause Sherlock to shift practically into John’s lap given his reluctance to let go of John’s neck.

“I think you should prescribe me another dose.” Sherlock wiggles his toes. “I think I’m feeling a bit bored again.” He grins mischievously, turning in John’s lap so they’re facing each other.

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” John pets Sherlock’s arm as the other settles over his shoulder.

With a Cheshire grin, Sherlock pushes forward once again, this time seeming a bit better at the kiss now that he’s at a better angle.

And there they sit muttering sweet nothings and confessions between kisses, tasting the sweetness of “I love you”, the bitterness of revelations and unspoken words, the tang of confessions of love discovered. They share in the glow of love confirmed, and the warmth of hearts once broken now made whole. They fall asleep together, there on the sofa, wrapped up in each other’s hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this piece of bubblegum fluff :) If this inspires anyone to go further, please, tag me and let me know on my tumblr, inevitably-johnlocked.tumblr.com


End file.
